


All Better

by LizLuvsCupcakes



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Graphic description of minor injuries, Hugging, Hurt/Comfort, I’m not projecting you are, Minor Injuries, Patton is a good Dad, Platonic Logicality - Freeform, Self-Loathing, Self-Worth Issues, but he’s not, logan wants to be a robot, logicality - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:08:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23930584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizLuvsCupcakes/pseuds/LizLuvsCupcakes
Summary: Minor injuries are nothing to concern yourself with. Logically speaking, there is no reason to concern yourself, or be upset about something as silly and inconsequential as a scraped knee. Logan knows all of this.Then why does he still have so many icky emotions to fight off?
Relationships: Logic | Logan Sanders & Morality | Patton Sanders
Comments: 16
Kudos: 56





	All Better

**Author's Note:**

> Real quick- this fic contains a lot of Logan self depreciating, crying and a VERY graphic depiction of a minor injury. If you don’t want to read that, maybe read something else. If you decide to continue, I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Tumblr Link:
> 
> https://lizluvscupcakes.tumblr.com/post/616842515470041088/all-better

Stupid. That's all it was. He was. This whole situation was. Stupid stupid _stupid_. 

Logan was supposed to be back from his adventure outside his room at this point. Patton had asked him for any dishes in his bedroom, he was meant to bring Patton the ones he had found, and by now, he would be on his way back up, trying to squirm out of another famILY thing he didn't need eating up his time. _Wasting_ his time. 

But no. He'd dallied too much. Like an idiot. And Patton had remembered some garbage thing he'd forgotten, and now he was tied up with dishes, and “ _oh Logie Bear won't you be a darling and go get it for me?_ ” And rather than telling Patton that he had real work to do that actually mattered, that he, Patton, had two fully functioning legs and then ending it there, had _stupidly, foolishly, nincompoopishly_ acquiesced. 

He hadn't been looking where he was going, thinking about the time he was wasting and that he'd have to get back on schedule. He hadn't seen that dumb fucking _Roman_ had left his stupid, useless satchel filled with his garbage, unimportant potion bottles on the stupid, untrustworthy driveway. One that was asphalt, in spite of Logan’s protests. He'd fallen. He could still hear the **_SKRUNCH_ **his body had made as he'd roughly hit the ground. And had stunned him, it hurt more than it should have-

No. Nononono, Logan, do _not_ give in, it didn't _hurt_ , he was Logic, things didn't hurt Logic, he only sustained physical damage. So rather than being pathetic, he'd grabbed the thing from the mailbox Patton wanted, practically thrown it at him (the journey back was much longer) and frantically limped up the stairs, clutching his leg as he felt the wet ooze of blood trickling down. 

Now, here he was. His trousers removed, trying to get the bleeding stopped with wads of toilet paper, face scrunched in concentration, _concentration,_ not feelings. He didn't have feelings. He hadn't looked at the injury because he'd only focused on stopping the bleeding, not because he couldn't bear the sight of the fresh all torn up, oozing blood that was running down his leg, leaving trails of hemocytes in its wake. 

But… but physical injuries could be treated. Could be fixed. And then at long last he'd be back to work. 

He was going to fix this alone. Logically, it would be best if he fixed this alone. Like he fixed everything else alone. 

~~In spite of his urge to hobble to Patton for help and beg for help or just stay there because it hurt it hurt it hurt~~

Logan gathered himself, and tried to mentally pinpoint where the first aid kit was. He kept it packed for Roman, surely it would work for a skinned knee, right?

With one foot still propped up on the toilet, Logan contorted himself to reach under the bathroom sink to grab the orange box. Flipping it open, he was relieved to find it fully stocked. He dropped the wad of toilet paper he was holding, picking up a cotton ball as he selected the bottle of peroxide. Finally, he started to turn to-

He'd let go of his knee. 

He'd uncovered the injury.

For a moment or two, he physically could not turn his head. Couldn't bear the sight of how bad it was, and he hadn't even looked. 

“You are Logic,” he scolded himself in a harsh growl. “This is a minor injury. It is nothing compared to what Roman does to himself on a daily basis. You need to analyze the data to complete the task.” Still, looking was an insurmountable struggle. So, instead, he soaked the cotton ball in medicine to psych himself up.“You are a robot. It will be like looking at a medical textbook.”

That was how it always felt when he was helping the others, anyway. Why should this be any different? With that in mind, he finally turned to peer down at the injury.

It was bad. 

Logan turned away, dropping the bottle to bite into his knuckle as he recoiled from the sight. Oh god, there was blood, the meat was visible beneath the skin, all shredded and oozing and pulverized, there was one big _chunk_ hanging on by a few little _skin threads,_ and the blood, oh god, the _blood_ -

“Logan?”

Patton's warm tone of concern and patience sent Logan cold. 

Logan clapped his hand over his mouth. Fuck. He'd been gasping. Making noise. ~~Crying~~. “Not right now,” he called back, voice shakier than he would've liked. 

“Kiddo, there's blood all over. Are you hurt?”

“Logic would dictate that I am injured if you have found evidence of bloodshed,” his voice quavered but he pretended it wasn't. “As you and I are the only two here just now.”

Patton was at the door. He'd forgotten to close it. Another stupid fucking mistake. _Stupid_ mistake after _stupid_ mistake-

“Aw, kiddo, did you get a boo-boo?”

Something about those words irked him. Patton was condescending him, mocking him when it _hurt_ , how dare he? “Obviously, yes,” he bit out, tersely.

“Is it bad?” He asked, trying to move closer, see around the toilet and the sinks blocking the way. 

“It is fairly strenuous, but I believe with proper home treatment it should heal within-” 3 to 7 days was the ideal time. But he was not going to hold out for the ideal time now. “1 to 2 weeks.”

“Have you put medicine on it yet?”

“I… haven't,” he admitted. He looked around for the bottle he'd dropped like the idiot he was. “I was just about to begin the process when… you arrived…” he wished Patton would stop asking so many questions because it really hurt and he just wanted to clean it and go to work and forget all these awful, icky emotions, but the more he spoke the closer they came to the surface. 

Patton offered a tiny smile, holding up the bottle. “Can I help? I'm kinda good at this,” he offered with that genuine little smile that chipped away at one's resolve to be brave. Emotionless. Strong. 

“Patton, you are squeamish, you hate blood, it's really icky, and plus you just- I can- I-” he had to stop talking now. Patton wasn't going to accept no. So, resigned to his fate, he just nodded. 

“Good. Thank you, Logie.” He took a step back, leaving room in front of the empty space on the counter. “Hop on up.”

Logan obeyed, and with a snap, Patton had him out of his clothes, into his Bill Nye shirt and Galaxy boxers that served as pyjamas. Patton knelt down in front of Logan, hissing sympathetically when he saw it. “Owie,” he said sadly, as if it hurt him that Logan was hurt. 

It was out in the open. Staring at him. It was even worse with the better lighting, it wasn't just that the drips ran down, the scrape itself had been dragged down to the top of his shin, and… and… 

Logan allowed himself a sniffle and a whimper as Patton manipulated his leg.

The dad looked up, saw Logan staring and without missing a beat, handed their brain a new rubix cube. “Here. Play with that. Don't watch.”

A brand new cube. Patton must have thought of him on his last online shopping spree. Well, calling it a cube was wrong, it was more of a series of interlocking, colourful gears that acted like one of his cubes. Logan had wanted one months ago, and assumed everyone had forgotten how cool they were. Tentative, as if scared he'd startle it, he shifted the puzzle a bit. It felt fluid, yet steampunk.

“This is quite the number on your knee here, teach,” said Patton, gently lowering it so he could stand to rifle through cabinets. “How'd you do this?”

“Roman. He… he left his… his satch-chel on th-the drivew-way…” his voice quivered and broke apart. He didn't dare look up from the cube but he couldn't play with it. 

“Oh, you poor thing,” Patton said, sounding as if he meant it. Logan heard water rushing. “Does it hurt?”

“I-it is a s-superficial injury-y-y.” Logan took a deep breath. “Not s-serious. Not l-life threatening. Just b-bl-lood-d-dy.” He didn't know why that last word was so hard to get out. It was true. But it was bad. 

“But does it hurt?” Patton was back down in front of him. One hand placed gently above his knee, the other clutching a warm, wet washcloth. 

Logan shook his head. “I a-am logic. I d-do not- do not exp-p-perience the human c-concept of p-pain, I-”

“Teach?” He waited until Logan was for sure shut up. “Logan. You don't have to pretend to be a robot here kiddo. I know you like to, but it's safe to take a break. Roman and Virgil aren't here, you don't have to pretend you don't go through the same icky emotional stuff we do. It's just me. Okay, Buzz All-Win?”

Logan's mouth quaked. He tried to stop it but his eyes burned. His breath came in short, rapid gasps and- and-

And just like that, he was sobbing into Patton's shirt as Patton held him, careful not to jostle the injury. Who was he kidding? It hurt. It hurt ever since it happened, it shouldn't have happened, but it did, and it hurt. It _hurt_. 

“Shhhhh. It's okay. It's all right. Dad's here. Dad’ll make it better,” he promised soothingly, hugging Logan (though he was considerably taller than he). “You work so hard for us, sweetie. How about I take a shot at working hard for you?”

“B-but… you… d-d-don't…” his hiccuping sobs made words hard, but they still came. “Y-you don't… li-ike… b-bloo(hic)oood!!!”

“I don't like a lot of blood. Like when you did such a good job getting Roman’s sword out of him? I didn't like that. But I'm good at this.”

“Why?” Logan asked as he dried his face on a roll of toilet paper. 

“I'm good at fixing boo boos, not wounds.” Patton must have known there was elaboration needed, because he went on. “Wounds are really bad, there's a lot of blood, and everyone is scared because they are really scary. Like Roman and his swords. This, though… it just seems scary to you because you're not used to this, and it seems like a lot of blood. But I promise this isn't a lot of blood, kiddo. I know it seems like the Red Sea, but that's just because, first, you bleed like a stuck pig, and second… well, you just don't scrape that often. Is that right?”

Logan sobbed, but nodded. Yes, this was most likely the first scraped knee he'd had in at least a decade. The truth was, he just didn't bleed much. At least not by accident. But when he did, his clotting was clearly not fully satisfactory. 

The blood. The experience. The lack of control over his body. The pure, utter humiliation when it occurred to him that he really wasn't a robot and that it _did_ hurt… that had been the worst of it. 

“Is-” his voice fractured, so he cleared his throats and tried again. “Is there a significant difference between the treatment of wounds and the treatment of… ‘boo-boos’?”

Patton smiled and took up the cloth again. “Good question. Play with your cube and I'll tell you, okay?”

How Logan was supposed to glean any information from this process of teaching, he didn't understand. But, frankly, the injury, the… _boo-boo_ was icky and he really didn't want to see it again. So he obeyed, fiddling with the gear cube as his gaze shot upward, locking onto the ceiling. Sniffling occasionally.

“Okay, I'm gonna wipe the blood and grime off of this, just to make sure there's nothing hanging out we don't want.” At that warning, there was a touch of something to his knee, which hurt, hurt in the way it would to press against a fresh bruise. Logan whimpered but kept his gaze away. 

“Logan?” He slowly turned his gaze to Patton, who'd put the washcloth up on his thigh as a little barrier. “I'm gonna clean it proper now. But you gotta see this part, okay? It's important.” He then took a clean cotton ball, and the bottle of peroxide, and soaked the thing as Logan watched in dread. This was going to hurt, he knew that much, burn and sting and-

Patton did the most peculiar thing. He held the cotton ball a decent distance from his face, blowing softly on it for a few seconds. Logan flinched and looked away when he dove in, bracing for the worst. 

The worst didn't come. 

“D-dad…?”

“That part is _important_. Takes the sting away.”

“... sources…?”

“Me.”

Right. He supposed that made sense. In a silly, nonsense, Patton sort of way. 

The cleaning was the worst of it. Expecting the burning, knowing the blowing did nothing, and yet there it was. Or rather, wasn't. Was this some sort of placebo? But that didn't make sense, Logan knew for a fact it didn't work. Some chemical reaction with the carbon dioxide and the peroxide, perhaps? He'd have to look into it. 

Finally, he felt something cool and sticky smudged onto the area of affliction before it was wrapped tightly in something. Logan chanced a look down. Two pads of gauze stuck to the inj- _boo-boo_ , being wrapped in some sort of stretchy bandage. He secured it in place with a space patterned adhesive bandage. 

Patton looked up at him for a second, smiled gently before he leaned down and… kissed it? There was little risk of infection at this point, what with the coverage, but… _why?_

“Is that part important?” Logan asked, no longer crying but voice still thick as snot began drying, clogging. 

“Vital,” Patton affirmed, straightening up. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“No… no, I believe that was satisfactory.” He wiped his nose on the back of his hand, making it halfway before Patton handed him a square of toilet paper to use. “Thank you, Patton.”

“You’re always welcome, kiddo. Wanna come work in the kitchen?”

He sighed. “Patton, I believe my emotional state has stabilized-”

“It’s nothing to do with that. It’s just, you’ve been cooped up in your room for days. I’ve missed you. Besides, whatever you’re working on, maybe I can help?”

“I sincerely doubt it.”

“Offer moral support?”

… well, he couldn’t argue that. “Very well,” he finally conceded, shuffling to stand up. It was easy to forget how much taller he was than Patton. He and Roman were about the same height (Roman had a few inches on him, which he lorded over Logan at any opportunity), and Patton was a bit shorter than both of them, distinctly chubby. In times like these, though, Patton always seemed like he was 10 feet tall. 

Within minutes, Patton and Logan were downstairs, Patton carefully cleaning up the blood trail Logan had left in his haste for the bathroom as Logan settled on the couch with his notebook in his hands, and his cube resting against his thigh. He’d been mercifully snapped into pyjama pants, giving him an alibi for whenever Roman returned. 

_Note to self:_ _analyze data gathered during incident w/ Patton. Gather additional data on the impact of bedside manner on physical injury. Gather more information on the nature of boo-boos._

It was odd. For all he’d fought against it before, now it seemed he’d gotten what he wanted. It still hurt, but just barely. 

**Author's Note:**

> Huh. I’ve put off writing this for way too long. Logan needs his dad too. Well, I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> (This was inspired by some injured sides headcanons that I can’t find ATM, but one of them headcanoned that Logan would just calmly tell you about the injury if you asked about it. Like, “I have a bruise on my left temples that should secede within three days,” but he won’t actually tell you if it hurts. This is based on my additional headcanon that it just takes Patton offering to kiss it for him for Logan to crumble, and... here we are. I can’t find the original post, but if I do, be sure I’ll post it here. And please feel free to help if you can.)
> 
> EDIT: I found the headcanon!! https://just-sanders-sides-things.tumblr.com/post/613008234796793856/the-sides-and-how-they-deal-with-physical-pain
> 
> Credit @ tumblr user just-sanders-sides-things


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